


Paper and Pen

by DoctorRainyStardusttheThird (orphan_account)



Category: The Greatest Showman (2017)
Genre: Fluff, Other, hope you like it, much fluffing, saw greatest showman and fell in love, so this is my first fic, when do i stop tagging, wrote it at two am when i shouldve been studying chemistry, Ī jinsei ni narimasu yō ni
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-11
Updated: 2018-05-11
Packaged: 2019-05-05 11:54:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14617959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/DoctorRainyStardusttheThird
Summary: Anne's sleepy, and Phillip's working. Fluff and a discussion ensue.





	Paper and Pen

Anne was curled up on the couch, watching Phillip work in the dim half-light.

His forehead was furrowed, and the tip of his tongue was caught between his teeth, like it always was when he was concentrating on something. He sharpened his pencil and caught her eye.

He smiled. ‘Still awake?’ he said softly. They’d been just sitting and chatting late into the night before Phillip had started working on the circus accounts. It had been a long day at practice, and Phillip had invited her back to his apartment for the night. Anne stretched out luxuriously, feeling her tired joints pop.

‘I like watching you work,’ she admitted, and he laughed.

She watched him pick up the pencil again and start to write. Anne watched his hand loop round, the movements careful and deliberate. She let the scratching of the lead lull her into a daze.

‘Hey, Anne?’ Phillip murmured, after a few moments of quiet. ‘Would you pass me those?’

She lifted her head. ‘Mm?’

‘Those papers there?’ Phillip gestured to the table on her left. She reached over. They looked like more financial accounts, from what she could tell. Well, there were numbers, not letters. She could make out some of the shapes, but the rest defeated her.

‘Your handwriting’s awful,’ she said, surprised, still in a sleepy haze.

Phillip chuckled softly. ‘Yeah, I know. I used to get into trouble for it back in school.’

Anne looked over the papers again. She couldn’t read much of it, but this shaky scrawl was nothing like Charity’s elegant hand, or even Barnum’s neat cursive.

‘It’s better than it was. The professors used to rap me over the knuckles if I blotted my pen, so I improved.’ Phillip sighed a little. ‘But my handwriting was the worst in the class.’

Anne laughed, snuggling deeper into the blanket. It smelled faintly of Phillip. ‘Tell me more.’ Phillip never really spoke much about his childhood, or his schooling, and she was interested.

‘I used to write with my left hand when the professors weren’t looking. They were never very happy when they caught me. We used to have to write out this thing called _scripture_ , every week.’ Phillip wrinkled up his nose, and Anne melted inside. Outside, the dark water lapped against the docks, stars floating on the surface. ‘I didn’t like school much. I liked writing stories, but my handwriting was so bad I got my knuckles rapped almost daily.’

Anne looked wistfully at the letters she couldn’t decipher. ‘Wish I could read.’

Phillip stood up, his chair scraping back. He came over and wrapped an arm round her. ‘Maybe I could teach you?’

Anne snorted. ‘I don’t know if it’s best I learn from your handwriting.’

‘It’s better if I write with my left. But my father and my teachers didn’t like that. One of my later teachers used to make me wear a jacket, with the left arm pinned to the side.’

Anne looked at him curiously. ‘I never heard of people using their other hand before.’

Phillip took up a pencil, and a bit of cheap brown paper. ‘I’ll show you.’

His tongue peeping between his teeth again, he wrote out a careful line of twirls and loops. ‘That’s your name,’ he said, pointing, ‘and mine.’

It still didn’t make much sense. ‘Write with your left.’

Phillip picked up the pencil and obliged. Even though Anne couldn’t make out words, she could tell the writing was far smoother, and Phillip’s hand moved fluidly. Anne watched for a moment, mesmerised.

‘I don’t know why it’s easier to write with my left hand.’ Phillip shrugged. ‘I guess I have a glitch in my brain. Bit different to the others.’

‘What’s so wrong with being different?’ Anne said fiercely, and he ruffled her curls.

‘I really don’t know, Anne. People do get annoyed at the silliest things.’ He kissed her nose. ‘But it’s easy to ignore them.’

She twined an arm round his neck. Just above his collar, the skin was marred, darkened in places. She traced the scars the fire had left, very gently. He caught her hand and pressed it to his lips. They sat like that for a moment, Phillip breathing in the sweet scent of Anne’s coffee-coloured skin.

Anne wriggled upright. ‘Show me the writing again.’

They sat and talked for the rest of the night. Phillip taught Anne to read her name, and his, and to write _Anne_ and _WD_ and _Phillip_. Eventually, when the candle had burned out and the late-night revellers had dissipated off the streets, Anne slipped back into sleep. Phillip tucked his blanket round her, smiling to himself. Anne, so fierce and bold and brave during the day, was like a sleepy kitten at night.

Her words echoed in his mind as he settled down next to her. _What’s so wrong with being different?_ He thought about the circus, then looked at the beautiful, sleeping girl next to him, whom he loved with all his heart. He looked at the wobbly letters on the scrap of paper curled in Anne’s hand. As he drifted off, he kissed Anne one last time on the forehead. ‘Nothing, Anne,’ he whispered, smiling. ‘Nothing at all.’

**Author's Note:**

> I'm aware this is hardly action-packed, or fluff packed. Pretty boring, sorry. I'm a leftie myself, and I guess I just saw Phillip as a leftie too when i saw the film, but they weren't very nice to lefties back then x


End file.
